


Cheese And Snow

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Porn Battle, Smut, Snowed In, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-28
Updated: 2010-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's seemingly nothing for Sam, Michael and Fi to do during their Wisconsin-based surveilence mission but watch TV and the snow.  That's when they get a new mascot..and learn the true meaning of the word 'teamwork...'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheese And Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle X - Prompt: "Burn Notice, Sam/Michael/Fi, family, photograph, kittens, drink, equity, relax, snow"

"Does Wisconsin have anything but cheese and snow?" Michael asked abruptly as he changed channels on the small portable TV set. It was midnight, their surveillance detail had gone to bed, and the tiny cabin they'd rented in the Pepin area was devoid of anything interesting but the satellite cable hookup they'd stolen and the mounds of snow outside their door.

"They have the Dells," Fiona said, slipping her headphones on, legs crossed against the mattress, prepared to put herself to sleep.

"Not in the winter," Michael reminded her, and she shrugged.

"I know they don't have sexual frustration," she declared. Michael felt a stroke of erotic desire; it's been a long time since he's touched her, having been sequestered with Sam for a week. "After all, they spend winters cooped up together…alone…with a roaring fire…"

At that point, the door opened; they scrambled for their guns but it was only Sam, cheeks ruddy from the cold, holding something carefully cradled inside his opened leather jacket, his other hand filled with a plastic bag of take-out. "We've got company," he declared, opening the jacket and depositing something small, white and furry on the bed in front of Fi.

His partners bent over the small mound. "Sam, is that a kitten?" Michael asked.

Sam nodded, pulling off his ski cap. "I found the poor little guy in a dumpster by the Italian restaurant. It's kicking up out there and I didn't want him to freeze to death."

 

Fiona and Michael shared a worried look.

"He might be sick," Michael offered up.

"He might have rabies," replied Fiona.

"You always said we needed a team mascot, Mikey," Sam pointed out, stomping snow off his boots. He started distributing the food as soon as he got the coat off.

Michael cocked his head, listening to the snow whistle outside. "He can stay. Are you sure you're all right?" Michael said, his worry very subtle. He eyed the gunshot wound on Sam's right shoulder, invisible beneath his white sweater, a souvenir of their last mission.

"It only hurts when I laugh," Sam said, uncorking the booze and pouring it out into red plastic cups.

***

He ate enough to put a normal man into a coma. Sam stirred in the middle of the night, half-awake, his boozy satiation washed away at the soft sound of someone moaning.

Sam awakened instantly at that sound. He looked about the spare bedroom. The kitten slept on Michael's balled up designer jacket, and the TV played a re-run of Sanford and Son. But the real show was happening on the bed. Suddenly, he understood what had woken him.

Sam tried to look away as he recognized the shapes made in the soft halo of light, recognizing instantaneously what they were doing. Fiona straddled Michael's lap, her hips rocking up and down slowly, her head tilted backward and her features lit by the flickering TV set; Michael rocked up to meet her, his eyes half-opened, watching. Sam curled up on the bed they'd improvised of several plastic cushions several feet away, trying to be invisible, trying not to notice.

Unfortunately, he was hypnotized.

She was gorgeous; Sam could see the slickness of their connection, the glistening condom, the soft groans they uttered in concert making quite the sexy picture. Without thinking, he reached into the fly of his boxers and started stroking his cock.

Fiona's groans grew louder and louder, her motions more erratic. Sam's fingers slammed up and down around his cock; damn, they were fun to watch. Abruptly Fi let out a choked cry and slowly melted forward onto Michael's chest; after a few seconds, Michael rolled her over and began his own, more frantic motions; Sam matched Michael's thrusts, his fingers a poor substitute but enough to get him off.

Sam's toes curled as he bit down on his lip, quickly grabbing one of the unused napkins from the meal off the floor to catch his spill. He and Michael came together, feet apart, one oblivious to the other, the other oblivious to the keen-eyed look of their female companion as Sam turned around, balling up the restaurant napkin and hiding it nearby, and went back to sleep.

***

For a minute, he thought the soft lips nuzzling his hand belonged to the cat. Sam pried one eye open, a rebuke on his lips. He jumped; it was Fiona.

"I saw you," she whispered.

"Uh…I can explain…" Sam squeaked out, envisioning the beating he was about to receive, but she silenced him with a gentle touch.

"I'm glad you saw. We both are."

Sam woke up all the way when he felt Michael's hand pushing away the blankets, caressing Sam's chest, kissing his thighs.

He shook his head; this was crazy. They were all crazy. It had to be the snow.

"We almost lost you," she said, cupping his jaw.

"What the hell are we doing, Fi?" he asked roughly.

She shook her head. "Keeping warm," she declared.

***

What transpired between the three of them under the watchful eye of a blizzard, a snowy television set and a tiny white cat would provide Sam with the sort of glowing memory that would never be equaled. Oh, he'd been around the block quite a few times, but he'd never quite experienced the passion that Michael and Fiona delivered to him. The positions they ended up in were inventive (Sam inside of Fiona, Michael on his knees in front of them licking the point where they met; Michael on his back, dangling off of the bed, Sam's cock down his throat and Fiona riding him side-saddle; Fiona lying flat on the card table, Michael eating her out while she sucked off Sam) but never too strenuous, and they never lost their senses of humor. Thanks to the Viagra he could keep going for longer than Michael could; he came away with Fiona's scratches all over his thighs and shoulders and the sound of her screams ringing in his ears. Michael was at turns stoic and almost wildly passionate, matching Fiona's wildness completely. It's no wonder they were so well-suited for one another.

He had a sinking feeling this might be love, real love, even if they couldn't support his expensive sense of taste.

As they packed up their things to go home, Sam herded them into a group shot, using the disposable Polaroid they always kept around for surveillance missions (he had insisted that it was important to document their survival; brother, if they could survive this they could survive ANYTHING); in it, he stands behind Fiona, his left hand squeezing her shoulder, staring firmly ahead, trying to navigate the rougher waters; Michael sitting beside Fiona, his hand on her thigh, possessive of them both; Fiona sat primly, a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on her lips. And at their feet was the new team member, the tiny white kitten Sam would name, who would grow up to be a ten-pounder who could take any tom in a fight and eat them out of house and home.

They called him Sir Veal.


End file.
